Freyja's Surprise

A SERIES OF SHORT STORIES by Jenni Gee FREYJA'S SURPRISE Although I am dressed in the smartest and newest clothes I can afford, or at least what my poor plastic will allow, I feel shabbily dressed in here. Whenever I am in Paris, no matter how I try I can't resist coming to this designer boutique to look at what I would wear if only I had the money. The styles! The quality fabrics!. Naughtily, sometimes I try on a dress or two! There! There is a woman that not only can afford the high prices here but is one for whom these dresses are designed. She studies herself in the cheval mirror; she poses, she preens, she admires and bit by bit she approves each facet of her appearance. As I catch sight of her face reflected in the mirror I become transfixed. The features are of eastern origin; almond eyes, high cheek bones, small mouth. She wears, for me, a little too much make-up, more in keeping with my image of a starlet of the movies. But what an exquisite beauty, the features expressionless until, having studied her twin image in the mirror, she smiles revealing too, too perfect teeth. Suddenly I feel the blood rush to my imperfect cheeks; I am a voyeur who has been discovered. The eyes in the looking glass are fixed on me, and I am fixed to this spot by them. Desperately I try to drag my admiring eyes from her, but like a rabbit caught in the headlamps of the automobile that is about squash it into the pavement, I remain motionless and gauche. A smile that has my heart beating faster spreads over the beauty?s features, the index finger of her gloved hand beckons me to her. Like some small child I comply. Her voice is a surprise but non-the-less adds to her beauty and also adds an element of eastern mystique; it is soft and almost husky. Unfortunately I do not understand her words for I have yet to master my mother tongue of English let alone her native language of French. Seeing my distress and confusion her smile widens and she repeats her words but now in precise English with the soft accent for which the French lovers are known. In reply I have to admit that yes, I was admiring not only the clothes in which she stood but her whole aura. With light laugh she takes me gently by the hand and I follow blindly. At a rack of dresses my mystery lady stops, takes both my hands, holds them out and studies me from head to toe. Once again blood invades my cheeks and I self-consciously drop my head and drop my eyes to the floor. A gloved finger hooks beneath my chin and gently raises kaçak iddaa it until my eyes meet those dark almond pools. Seconds pass as we gaze unblinking into each other's eyes. At thirty years of age I am not without sexual experience, indeed among my social group I am considered somewhat liberated in that, whilst I enjoy the sexual side of relationships I have chosen not to be tied to any one person. Not that I am promiscuous; I choose my sexual partners very carefully, giving myself to each one exclusively for the period of the relationship. My frame is small and I maintain my body in good condition by choosing a healthy diet and exercising regularly. Most men and many women tell me that I am attractive, pretty, etc. All my sexual experience has been exclusively with males; I have never been tempted to cross the male/female divide. So, with her eyes and mine locked in a gaze, her now bare hands holding mine I am astonished to suddenly realise that my libido is attempting to wrest itself from my control and an all too familiar sensation begins to make itself known. Normally this will occur at times when I have full control and usually but not exclusively in bed with a lover. The woman's smile acts as a diversion and her voice wakes me from my reverie. Skirts are taken from the rail and deeper in the shop blouses are added to the skirts. Underwear is likewise collected, with me a dazed but willing passenger on this journey. At the changing room, a room for me as large as the tiny kitchen in my batchelorette apartment, I am invited to change completely into the ensemble. With her encouraging words in my befuddled brain assuring me that everything is OK and that she is sure that I have a body to be proud of, I overcome my initial reluctance to disrobe in front of this stranger. Although, now in my underwear I feel exposed and vulnerable. But gentle fingers unclasp my bra and it is whisked away leaving my small breasts naked. Those gentle fingers now hook over the straps to my string panties and softly wiggle them down my legs. At seeing my embarrassment that the crotch of the string has so obviously secured itself between the lips of my pussy my undress-er merely giggles softly. With the panties in her hands she looks at the moistness at the crotch, looks at me, tilts her head to the side and makes a soft clicking sound with her tongue. Once again my arms are extended so that those almond eyes can examine every part of my now over exposed body. By carefully selecting kaçak bahis open shade at various beaches I have achieved an all-over tan with no pale areas to spoil the effect. Thus, I receive approving looks from my new friend. She seems to approve too that I depilate all superfluous body hair. In my trips to the gym I have of course been naked in female company but nevertheless right now I felt far too exposed; the sexuality of the situation was inescapable, particularly as both of us were now aware that I was most certainly aroused. My friend insisted that the first garment to be tried was a bra, and I was suspicious that she had selected one that was obviously too large, and in demonstrating this fact her fingers and hands poked, prodded and moulded the fabric and my breasts. This was repeated with various sizes of bra until the correct size was found. Although my breasts are by no means large, with the right bra I can achieve an enticing décolletage, coupled with a revealing top I can show just the right amount of firm flesh. Such a bra was now producing that effect. Next, the top, a white lacy blouse that allowed the bra to display the aforementioned flesh. This too required fingers to brush my breasts. At this stage I was well aware that not only was my friend taking every opportunity to satisfy her curiosity concerning my breasts and upper body but had deliberately left bare my pubic area at which I saw her take long looks. It was not lost on me that in all the preceding 'fitting' I was made to move around considerably and every opportunity taken to place my legs apart. Together with her incredibly subtle and sophisticated perfume, this awareness had had a very pleasurable but unwanted effect on my libido. It was obvious even to me that the musty smell of my vaginal secretions was beginning to permeate the air in this room. Just what effect it was producing in my friend was not revealed on the inscrutable face. Inevitably the moment arrived to choose and fit the panties and if the fitting of these went along the same lines as the bra then I feared, or was the fear just sexual excitement, what opportunities would be taken. Seven styles had been chosen! Couldn?t I just slip each pair on and off? Of course not! This beautiful woman was going to extract the maximum pleasure not only from touching and looking at my body but also I believe from my slight discomfort. First up a pair of low cut boxer panties. These were pulled up, for I was not allowed to help, just a little illegal bahis bit too tight and with apologies nimble fingers prized the thin fabric out from between my butt cheeks. Then spotting that the crotch was disappearing, those same fingers teased it out from between my pussy lips and smoothed out any wrinkles taking a number of attempts to achieve the desired look. That my juices were by now flowing sufficiently to instantly soak the thin fabric as soon as it touched seemed not to be apparent to my by now quite intimate friend. Each style of pantie received the same painstaking attention, although I was near to a spontaneous orgasm when she fitted the tiniest string that I have ever seen and her fingers ground onto my clitoris more than once. I asked her name, this mysterious woman, after all those fingers where in places that no woman had touched since my mother had powdered me twenty-nine years before. Emaelsh, she said, an Indonesian name, but she preferred to be called Emm. As fitting followed fitting and Emm's fingers probed ever more intimately, and as my sexual temperature rose I worried that the store would call the authorities when they discovered much of their stock was soiled by my juices. I indicated my fears to Emm but she brushed aside my protests by saying they are all yours, the whole ensemble, I will make a gift to you. Of course I protested but I have to admit very weakly as what fitted me were beyond my budget and indeed my wildest dreams. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted asking how I could repay such generosity for it occurred to me that this female would only take payment in kind, and from my body! But no, when I had dressed in my obviously shabby clothes and she had put the cost on her store account she told me that in repayment all that she required was for me to join her at a pavement café to share a coffee and to chat. The chat turned out to be very brief as an almost forgotten but pressing engagement had her scurrying off but not before leaving me a note to meet her and a particular address in a classy arrondisment of Paris, in one weeks time. I am very organised so the rendezvous was entered immediately onto my Blackberry and I left the café, finished my shopping and returned home. Of course other things took my attention when I reached the apartment and I completely forgot the incident of earlier in the day. And of course I am lying! I watched the world news in English and had dinner. I showered, then wrapped in a robe I settled down to read a novel. Yes the novel was before my eyes but they saw nothing of the words on the pages as my mind was full of the most bizarre images; images generated by the thought of that woman.